I have *******, although I wish I could wrap them up. Make my size D a size A then I could wear all the trendy stuff. Then it wouldn't be too tight it wouldn't cling it would just hang. My shadow would be a rectangle and I could wear whatever I wanted without shame. Is it too low cut, is the graphic awkwardly placed am I drawing the wrong attention to myself if I don't cover every inch from my chest to my face? They say I'm too modest but they don't know what I've endured. 90% of my closet is t-shirts because I am tired of my body defining my worth.

You'll look at my ***, you'll look at my thighs, you'll look at my chest and stomach but never my eyes. You'll never know where the first sentence of my story lies because my figure is the only thing you idolize. And it doesn't bother me at all what I look like, but it boils my blood to no end that because I'm not showing off for you you think I'm a ****?

When I was 15 I wore basketball shorts and tshirts to school almost everyday, I dressed for comfort not to impress, this was high school not the Paris couture runway. Maybe it was because I didn't wear makeup or have my hair down or let my hips sway that they questioned my sexuality, I wasn't conforming to society's way.

I wore a dress on picture day and everyone was in shock, boys called me pretty for the first time but I didn't give a ****. I wore what I did for me, not so that they would be pleased. I was sickened that this change of scenery actually left them weak in the knees. When before they never even noticed me and they wouldn't ever again. Even when I was 18 and I had my first boyfriend , he said "are you sure you aren't a lesbian?" Because I wouldn't touch his **** and I didn't want to so that was the end.

Then I began to explore the notion that maybe I was all they said. I'd never thought about girls like that before but I had no ****** desire for men. I told this to you and you said you were experimenting too so you kissed me without my consent. You said it was just for fun but was it fun when the messages started to come, saying I was gay when I didn't even love you that way. In fact I hated you, I was used and abused and torn in two.

To this day people still ask me what I am I tell them I'm straight I just don't want ***. To which they reply the right **** will change your mind or maybe you're a lesbian because my desire for *** is how my gender is defined? I just want to be noticed like everybody else, to be loved by a boy not his **** or his wealth. And these stereotypes that everyone puts me in to is because *** sells so to the carnivorous media I say *******.

Its easier to tell people I've just been staying up too late.
That I lost track of time in a book or a show or a song.
It's easier to say that I've been writing a lot or it was an accident,
the time, when I looked at the clock
But the waves I've been told are in my eyes, see no shore in sight. They crash against themselves restless and relentless begging for some substance, some rescue from their depth.
Its easier to say anything than to admit I am depressed.
My mouth offers those fragile words like a poor orphan lifts its trembling hands. And the cold bite these impoverished muscles have sustained beg for the warmth of rest.
But when I say I am depressed and I have thoughts, greedy scheming cackling and cunning figures that torment me yet are children of my anatomy. And I cannot stop them for they are chemical beings. The guards of my vaults turned to dust running rampid through my neurological waves transmitting.
It is easier to lie than say these things kept me up all night. Than to say I have a better friend in my ceiling and in my bed then I do with sad cathartic feelings in my head.
It is silent and I stare.
There is a lamp in the distance and it's glow feeds hope thin as a spiderweb to my conscious constant despair. As the hours pass and I become vengeful my fight between becoming more and less aware.
The unified splits and divides it pulls and separates, hemispheres left and right creating two alternative sides of me. There's one militant that says get up and one that just says no.
No because it is afraid, no because it is sorry, no because it has obeyed the skewed perception that it is guilty. She is scared, she is stained with ideas that do not match her character but she clings to them because they have clung to her and truth is a steady companion but her truth was not right.
The other half is the anger yelling "why the hell are you like this?" and " Life gets so much better, think of all the things you're going to miss." Or accusing her of being meek and frail for attention, slapping her face, pressing knuckles into her heart, she is strong with her air of condescension. Yet she is the little self love her mass can contain. Her motivation is harsh but it holds the other as it sobs cooing and assuring "it's okay".
It's easier to sleep all day and not deal with any of this than have to explain it to you when you ask. Majority of the time I am met with knives not of verbal speech but of ignorance, inept hands and averted eyes.
It's easier to put on a face and say it was just one time than have you walk past my tear stained cheeks refusing to offer comfort as I anticipate the night. You know yet you do nothing so I would rather keep you unaware.
Than tell you I'm depressed so when you let me down the blame is mine to bear.

The serum made from
Venomous leaves dripping poison
Fire smoke that puffs ectasy
And the flesh that needs it so desperately.
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
It's the chemicals on my lips and in my brain
Steady inhale
Shaking exhale
I am not the same
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
It was the cigarette, or it was the rock
It was the alcohol, it was **** on my laptop
Sweet euphoric self destruction
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
I didn't know the first time would lead to this. An ******* sensation sealed with deaths kiss.
Like morphine in my veins oh god oh god what a thrill
As the stress leaves my body
I bind my name to addictions will
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
I drank that serum fast
Toxic infection with intent to last.
But I was unaware
Of the intense hard grip metal could bear
As it bites at my flesh, fangs fully exposed to tear, leaving my porcelain canvas to wear, a shade of red stitched with despair.
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
The dagger cuts, shallow and deep
It leaves me numb as my emotions rush to feast
on that flavor of being leaked
Out of the open wounds that cry freedom from me.
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
Rust knows nothing of me, for my heart and mind are still beating as wild chaotic company. And I feel overwhelmed, circumstances have driven me to
Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat.
My one faithful friend
Giving me strength and peace of mind.
While threatening my life all at the same time.
Everyday for 3 years I kept this glutton healthy and by my side
Releasing me of anxiety
Relieving me of strife
Ruining my chances of ever being alright and leaves ridges in the soft spots of my arms and thighs.
Repeat repeat repeat all day and all night, drink the serum at your own risk you're signing away the last sane piece of your mind.
It was the cigarette , it was the rock
It was alcohol, it was **** on my laptop.
For me it was a blade that I happily obeyed.
Lines on my body was the price that would be paid.
I don't do it anymore but the glutton still knows my name
Saying Release. Relief. Ruin. Repeat. Is an offer that can't be beat.
But like the scalding lungs and nostrils of addicts using who'd had enough.  I furiously tell you there's a way, the exit sign illuminates above a door labeled "self love"

This quiet dainty floral being
With crystal eyes and a delicate frame
Her lips are the fruit shimmering in the light
Her mind is alive like the stars that shoot in the night
Her hair is colored silk flowing to compliment her face
Her skin the softest petal plucked on the very first day
Of Spring, of joy, of love, of life, when you remembered breathing isn't a labor as long her fragrance is what your lungs are filled with.
You've never seen her smile but if you did your sure it would be the sun
You've never heard her voice but you're   sure it would be the gentle stream, running water which you want to drink of.
As cracks in a wall allow a little gold to slip through is broken parts
Anticipation to see the radiance locked behind the crack in her mouth is what caused my business of thieving to start.
I am a thief for I steal glances all the time, but there is no lust of flesh so it is not a crime.
And there must be something in me, nearly as bright as she
For her body is a window and all that reflects back is vivid color concerning me.
This is the wanderlust girl which every boy wants
And as I watch him watch her I know it is something I will never become.

I'm just waiting for the day you tell me you love her.
The loss will creep in slowly but surely like an overdose
All the words will swell in my throat
An emotional ER where there is no hope.
Every mouth confessing "I told you so"

I'm just waiting for the day you tell me you've loved her for a while.
The picture I've been staring at starts to shift and breathe
Hanging artwork I once knew intricately I now I observe inquisitively
Watching the imagine slip to an empty frame in front of me

I'm just waiting for the day where you have stolen smiles and glances exchanged.
Oh sunflower, you are but a stalk without your sun,
Removed from you by the shade of autumn leaves
A withered sprout cut with the glass wielded by intimacy
Now dirt at the bottom of a ravine.

I'm just waiting for the giggles and the glee and the not thinking straight
A vast expansion of stars before my eyes, the itch of the grass on my spine and your hand conversing for hours with mine.
The pavement and the passenger seat
The songs that mean something and all their beats
The fruit that falls always tastes more sweet.

I'm just waiting for the loss, the change, the taking away.
A TV channel I can't skip or look away
In a darkened room the glow of chaotic static fills my brain
Numb and paralyzed, never in your sights,
Yet I think I hear that famous Shakespeare tale playing from behind.

I'm just waiting for the replacing, my heart aching and accepting it's too late.
Does a spiders legs get stuck in the dew of a rose?
and does it's poison change the fragrance of the petals that grow?
And once the dew melts does anybody know
If the spider leaves, or if the rose lets it go?

I'm just waiting, anticipating, the outside dot I am to be
For in the waiting, in the silence, I chose not to speak.

I saw a pillar of fire and I saw a cloud an Israelite marching to promised ground
And this fire in the night blazed a trail all the way to Jerusalem
a light in the dark consuming and drawing all of our attention as the savior entered in
but he wasn't savior then he was just the Jesus man
height of his fame
top of his game
crowds know his name
and "hosanna" they proclaim
nation wide status and popularity
but all I can offer is palm branches at his feet so his ride doesn't get *****

I saw a pillar of fire and I saw a cloud an Israelite confused in the desert walking around
and this cloud by day darkened my path with its shade and I followed it down to via DelaRosa the painful way where the Savior carried my cross to Golgotha to take away my sins
but he wasn't savior then he was still just the Jesus man
height of his fame
scorned and betrayed
by the ones he came to save
even God looked away
but the ones who really loved Him had tears in his eyes while everyone else shouted crucify

And I am in both crowds
so how did I get from point A to point B somehow I find myself in between these two roads marked with glory and shame

I am the disciple saying Jesus you don't really have to die
Filling up dry cupped hands looking for the relief of rain. Refreshing words to a parched soul but it is the temptation to get drunk off of sweet nothings
It is the tension between suffering and superiority
He cried
My flesh writhes with greed longing for the captives to build a kingdom based on the pleasure of praise
But I didn't come for me I came to set people free, give my daddy back the keys m, grabbing children off their knees, letting authority be restored, relationship born, and heaven an open door
Will I be led by love or emotion?

Do I really have to go through with this or not? Haven't I already given up enough?
Gethsemane and the overwhelming grief
Meanwhile I am Judas saying "this isn't what I thought it would be"
What happened to the man we called revolutionary?
So you can fill up my hands with those sweet nothings
and I will drink deep of the bitter heavy and cheap silver you placed there

I am Peter ready to defend but also to flee because I am too ashamed to be seen with this politically defined criminal even though he washed my bare feet
so when you asked I will deny I will deny I will deny
because I favor what people think of me rather than giving away everything

And the people change their mind simply because the position of magician on the payroll was denied Their wish list weren't getting checked off they were getting left behind
And all three are a lot like me
and once again I find myself in between these two roads marked with glory and shame
fame and mock
victory and flogging  
it's in Ascension full of dissension as I wait for someone else's reign
I was in both crowds
I was the worshiper and the condemnor the admirer and the accuser
And I Wrestle and I wrestle with the gravestones in me until I am sick
And Jesus Christ I know you wrestled too
So My God my god what did you choose
with the pushing and pulling of rising choice tension
I now stand in the crowd that cries out for resurrection

I have moments

I have episodes

Lapses in time when the insecurities rise.

Like a flipping of a switch I disappear and the circus comes to town a silent exposure of my doubts and fears.

It's around the same time everyday, as the sun sets they come out to play. Just for an hour maybe a half of one or 2. And It swallows me whole, I am numb, a lack luster blue.

They say these different things all the people outside my pity tent of invisibility. They wonder why the quiet smile left my face, Why I don't mutter a word, the culprit is my over sensitivity.

Sometimes they don't notice at all and it's a cold contentment not to be needed, like a bullet I take gladly, no one even heeded, how I shut myself up

in a cocoon I am curled, I ran away in my mind to a foreign inviting world. Just me and my thoughts I am alone and I'm to blame. They whisper my name in passing but at least they know it all the same. They grab my wrists hoping I'll trip

and even with the tightest of grip I do not fall for I am more than used to this. And I become the observer to the life my shell is living. Distant, my eyes a screen and behind them in a theatre I am sitting.

Why is there comfort in the silence, in the distant, and the doubt? It's not self hatred but a warm euphoria that covers me when I am down. Why am I like this and how did I build this world? Whose the ring master of this circus who leads this parade of emptiness that follows me around the world?

I feel it growing in my chest a pleasant nuisance, this hole custom just for me. I don't mind it I don't fight it for soon enough it will flee.

And do not think for an inkling of a moment that what I have described is insanity but rather the core of human nature, the desperation of wanting someone to notice me.